


There is Nothing to be Afraid of (When Someone Loves You)

by Mrs_Don_Draper



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Blow Jobs, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Don_Draper/pseuds/Mrs_Don_Draper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mad Men Kink Meme prompt: Bob/Pete/Joan, The last ones at the office one night, Bob persuades Joan to help him with Pete. Preferably with laid back, drunkish!Pete but not a dealbreaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The brand spanking new kink meme is over here: http://madmenkinkmeme.livejournal.com/882.html?view=9074#t9074

She feels bad for the man, in a way. She sees the way he looks at Pete when he thinks no one is looking at him. But she's Joan. She notices _everything_ even if you don't want her to. That's why she's kept her job for as long as she has. That, and looking damn fine in a dress certainly doesn't hurt. So when she packs up for the day and is just putting on her coat to leave, to say that she is surprised by Bob's appearance wouldn't be entirely truthful. This can only be about one thing.

"Can I help you with something, Bob?" she asks innocently. 

She doesn't want to scare him off. For all his charm, he certainly doesn't have many friends at SCDPCGC, or, more precisely, SC&P. She isn't sure whether they've made the name change official or not. Just because she sees everything doesn't mean she knows everything. But that's an issue for another day.

"I feel rather foolish for asking, especially since you are obviously on your way out. I wouldn't want to keep you from your family."

Joan lets out a soft sigh, takes off her gloves, and hangs up her coat. She had wanted to leave, but Bob had been so kind to her, moreso than others at the office can say, so she decides to give him a few minutes to plead his case. She's interested to hear if he's here to talk about what she thinks he's going to.

"Well...what is Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce Cut--" A pointed look insists that he get on with the question. She has time to listen, but she doesn't have time for stalling. "What is the company's policy on...office relationships?"

Joan laughs before she can stop herself.

"Oh god, what have they been telling you?"

Bob looks embarrassed at her reaction, so she stifles her mirth to hear if he has more to add.

"No one tells me much of anything around here, Mrs. Harris."

Seeing that this is going to take a while, she sits herself back down in her chair and gestures to the seat across from her. Bob steps further into her office and she sees the infamous twin coffee mugs. She takes it gratefully.

"Please call me Joan."

"Yes, Joan. And office relationships...?"

Putting on a businesslike attitude, she replies honestly, "Relationships around here start and stop and cause more drama than the merger this company is going through. They create and destroy marriages and children. They get people hired, promoted, and fired and often in that order. They can make or break a career, especially depending on how public someone wants to be about it. And I can tell you this with certainty because I've seen it and experienced it all."

Bob looks at her with fresh eyes. He takes a sip of coffee before replying.

"Then I haven't got a chance."

When he puts his face in his hands, Joan debates with the idea of going over to comfort him and caves in when he keeps his head down for a minute or two. She can allow silence and reflection, but pity and self-loathing never got anyone anywhere. His head jerks up when she runs her fingers gently through his soft brown hair. He's one of the few that don't use gel or oil. It gives him that boyish look that Pete Campbell used to have before he turned his heart cold against whatever has been eating at him the past five years. Men never knew what they wanted because they could have it all. It takes her a moment to realize that Bob was resting his head against her while she stroked his hair. She imagined herself doing this for Kevin one day when he was heartsick over a girl (or a boy. She supposed she should stop assuming.) She was being inappropriate, even considering the topic of conversation. When she pulls back, Bob looks up at her with sad, clear eyes. This man knew exactly what (who) he wanted; he simply didn't know how or if it would even be possible to try to get it.

She sits down on the edge of her desk in front of him before asking, "So what do you want me to do? Have you tried talking to him?"

His eyes widen when he realizes that she already knows.

"How do you...?"

"I've been here a very long time, Bob."

He nods. Content that it's as simple as that. He knew he wasn't dealing with someone who was stupid.

"I have, sort of. We were talking before, drinking. I bumped his knee. He looked as if he would reciprocate the feeling, but then he just told me that I was disgusting." 

Joan nods. She isn't the least bit surprised. Ad men were straight even when they weren't.

"Before he jerked away, I swear, I swear he was about to say something. But he lost his nerve or I frightened him away, something made him pull away from me, Joan. And I wanted so badly to pull him back. It would be ok. I would make it be ok. Doesn't he know, doesn't anyone in this office know, that I would do anything for them, for him?"

Joan sighs again because, yes, she _does_ know. Overeager, always willing...if he were female, everyone would be eating him alive. Not even Pete Campbell would have resisted. The sad part was was that Bob knew it. He knew that what was between his legs was the only thing holding him back. It was a feeling she could sympathize with more than she would care to admit.

"I do, honey. And maybe he'll see it, and maybe he won't." Bob stands up in frustration and begins pacing. "But what do you think _I_ can do about it?"

Without any warning, Bob's lips are upon her own, kissing her like his life depended on it. She shoves him back roughly. He begins apologizing immediately.

"I'm sorry. Please. I'm so sorry. I thought it would fix me. I mean, look at you, you're wonderful and kind and gorgeous. If you can't fix me no one can. I'm so sorry."

He wrings his hands in an uncharacteristic gesture. He looks lost without two cups of coffee keeping him occupied. The poor thing looks scared to death at the idea of having alienated his one friend in the office. And while she had not liked his actions, she knew why he did it. He wasn't behaving like the others. He truly meant his apology and looked sincerely remorseful. She had never seen a more lost boy in an office quite full of them.

“Bob. You don't need fixing. You're different. If Pete Campbell doesn't want different, kissing me isn't going to change anything.”

There. She said his name. It was out in the open. Now was probably a good time to leave anyway. Bob had said what he had needed to say, but she has her only little boy at home waiting for her to feed and cuddle and love. Unfortunately, Bob would need to now seek solace elsewhere, and Joan could only hope he didn't do anything harmful. For as much trouble as he seemed to be stirring up lately, she certainly didn't want to see him hurt.

“Will you be alright if I leave now?” 

“I'll try to be, Joan. You've done more for me than anyone else here has, and for that, I am most grateful.” 

He gives a small bow before ducking out of her office. She watches him go off in the direction of Pete's office and can only hope he doesn't get a black eye. Her door shuts with a soft click.

*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`

The next morning finds Joan unlocking the main office as she does every morning. She sets down her hat, coat, and purse before walking to the kitchen area to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Kevin had kept her up all night, and she knew she was going to need a pick-me-up. While waiting for the water to boil, another figure comes into the kitchen.

“Well, it seems both of us were busy last night.”

She thinks it's almost cute how Bob's cheeks color pink.

“Though I can't say I had as much fun as you did,” she teases.

“I ended up telling him what I told you: there is nothing to be afraid of when someone loves you.”

“That was enough to soothe him?”

“And other things.”

Joan nodded. Men always wanted “other things.” She, on the other hand, would be happy with someone she could love and who could love and respect her back. It was easy to love someone, but to trust someone was a gift and one she did not give out easily. Bob knew more about her than most people she knew and worked with, aside from Roger and maybe Don, back when he cared about anything. She didn't want to see this fresh face looking as haggard as she often felt.

“Be careful, Bob. This may feel like a game, but the consequences are very real.”

“I know.”

The sad thing was that he sounded as if he did.

_Who hurt you, Bob Benson?_

It was a question best left unspoken. She had probably said too much already. Whatever had happened or would happen between them was out of her reach. And anyway, the coffee was just about ready. She pulled out three mugs, two of which Bob snagged for himself. Joan sipped her coffee while she watched him walk away.

The disaster, she knew, was inevitable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://madmenwiththingsdrawnonthem.tumblr.com/image/53688487100

Speaking with Joan had given him a push. Now, whether that push was to or away from Pete Campbell, he couldn't be sure, but his feet seemed to be perfectly confident as they led him back to the man's office. He knocked three times and waited for a reply.

“Oh, can't it wait until tomorrow?” Pete whines. “I'm going to be leaving soon.”

Bob decides to take the plunge and opens the door. Pete Campbell could be nothing further from “leaving soon.” His jacket was tossed over the back of his chair, his tie was loose, and he was no longer drinking under the pretense of a glass. He looked comfortable with his shoes kicked off as he leaned back on his couch, if a bit annoyed at having his wallowing interrupted. He had a glowing whiskey flush that succeeded only in taking years off his age, and, even surly at seeing Bob's face, only made him that much more desirable. He could turn that pout into something else, if only given the opportunity.

“Peter, I don't think I left your office on the best of terms before, and I'd like to take the chance to amend that.”

“Wonderful. You can leave again right now.”

Campbell made as if to stand, so Bob gently sat him back down with a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“Peter, I'm not someone you need to lie to. Believe me when I say that your feelings are safe with me.”

Pete removes his arm—previously flung over his eyes—to look him at him face to face.

“Oh? And what exactly do you think my feelings are?”

It's quite the loaded question, but Bob isn't sure what else he could have expected.

“I know you want me, too.”

There. He said it. Short, sweet, and simple, or at least it should be. Love was one of the most complex and plain constants of life. Bob hadn't planned for his heart to be set on an ad man in a huge office in a building that towered over the city. If he had had it his way, he would be married off to someone as beautiful and charming, witty and biting as he himself was. Instead, he had found his emotional equal in Peter Campbell of Madison Avenue.

“And what if I did? I'm married.”

“You're separated.” 

Pete stands up angrily, humiliated at having someone like Bob Benson drag his personal life to the main stage. Bob's eyes widen in shock before shutting in reflex, and he braces himself for a blow. He believes that he could take Peter in a fight if he needed to, but he's been pushing the man an awful lot lately and knows he can't really blame him for being angry.

But the hit never comes.

He tentatively unclenches his fists and opens his eyes to see what Peter is going to do. Pete's reaction is just as surprising as a sock to the jaw would have been, but the lips pressed against his is a much more pleasant outcome. Without thinking, his hands come up to cup his face. He wonders if Pete ever has to shave; his skin is so smooth that it feels as though a razor's edge has never touched it. He runs his thumbs in slow circles where ear meets jaw and shivers under the hands Pete has on his shoulders. 

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Pete suddenly pulls away. 

“Fuck you, Bob Benson. I didn't want this. Do you know what this could mean for me?”

Speechless, Bob can only gape. He brings a hand to lips and imagines that he can still feel the warmth of Pete's own on them. Pete kisses him again before he can collect himself enough to need to reply. His hands become bolder this time, slipping down from jaw to neck to feel his birdlike shoulder blades flex as he pulls Bob closer to his body, kissing him like this is the only chance they'll both have for this. Bob almost thinks that that would be alright. It could be enough. His hands descend to his lower back, and Pete tenses with his implied path. He's come this far though. He grabs Pete's ass and pulls him in until there is not a sliver of space between them. He feels himself get hard against Peter's hip.

He can't help but thrust against Pete's hip as he tastes the whiskey on his breath and smells the subtle hint of cologne on his skin. He can tell that it makes Pete nervous; the man is so unsure of himself. Bob has so much to offer him and all the man can think about is reputation and implication and what will so-and-so think. He wants to take the fear out of this moment so that they can both enjoy each other to their potential.

Bob carefully extracts himself from Pete's tentative hold on him and drops to his knees in front of him. If he can give the man something familiar to cling to, perhaps he will let himself go a bit. Although he had done this before, he's still nervous about his performance. Pete is an incredibly important critic. He grounds himself by holding his hips between his hands and looking up at him with his soft, brown eyes.

“Will you let me, Pete?”

What man doesn't want a blow job?

“Alright,” Pete pants, undoing his belt and zipper. “But don't expect me to reciprocate.”

He draws Pete's cock out of his trousers. It's warm in his hand as he strokes it a few times to keep its interest in their proceedings. He looks up into Pete's eyes as he takes him inside his mouth. He watches Pete bite his bottom lip and hears him murmur curses under his breath as he bobs his head, trying to see what Pete likes most. He gets a thrill when Pete twines a hand in his hair to control his movements and cannot resist the temptation to palm himself through his pants.

It comes as a surprise when Peter suddenly pulls him off his dick, strands of spit connecting though even though they are no longer adjoined. 

“I don't care if you take care of yourself, but don't come on the carpet. I don't want anyone thinking that I'm a pervert.”

Pete had a point. He would just have to use his handkerchief at the right moment. But Peter was still looking down at him like he expected a response, but all he could manage was a nod of understanding. Pete's face finally softened.

“Thank you. I just, well this is complicated, alright? But you've certainly got me buttered up, haven't you?”

A warmth pools in his groin at his words. This was as close to praise as he had ever gotten from Peter before. He wouldn't let him down. They could make this work. Imagine the team they would make...He goes back to sucking Pete's dick with gusto. Now he has something to prove.

“Yes, just like that,” Pete grunts. “Mmm, yes.”

Bob fumbles for his handkerchief that's folded in his pocket. If Pete keeps talking like _that_. He takes everything Pete gives him, trying to stroke himself in time with Pete's movements.

“Shit, Benson. I'm going to come. _God_ , yes.”

It sets him off like a firecracker. He made Pete Campbell come. _He_ did. He whimpers his release and moans when he tastes Pete on his tongue. Apparently Pete likes it when he whimpers around his cock.

They pull away from each other, and Pete immediately collapses back onto his couch, panting from the pleasure. Bob can't do much more than sit down on his heels and huff until he gets his breath back. They did it. They really just did that. Together. He looks to Pete for a cue as to what to do next and absently wipes the come away from his mouth as he does so.

Abruptly, Pete lets out a laugh. A long, loud, genuine laugh that startles Bob. Is he laughing at him?

He must look crestfallen, because Pete then says, “No, it isn't you. God. It's everything. My wide left me, I haven't seen my daughter all week, I've moved out of my home, my senile mother won't leave me alone—did you know she thinks that Peggy is my _wife_?—I've got to pick up most of the slack Draper's been leaving behind, and now? Now I'm having a secret affair with the office's resident homosexual. It's not you, Bob. This whole fucking mess is all on me.”

Pete laughs again, and suddenly Bob finds himself joining in.

Pete smiles in disbelief before asking, “Oh? And what are you laughing at, Bob Benson?”

“I never went to Beloit. I'm not even from Wisconsin.”

Pete could honestly say that he had never heard anything funnier in his life.

“Just what this office needs: another Dick Whitman!”

“Who?”

Pete sobers up quickly.

“Nothing. I've just had too much to drink. Everything is funny, and now I'm spewing nonsense, and I'm exhausted. There's not much room up here, but I don't think I'm in any condition to drive, and I doubt _you've_ got a couch in your office. What I'm saying is, I'm going to sleep, and you're welcome to join me. If I'm asleep, I'll be able to stop babbling.”

Dick Whitman? He'd file that away for later. 

For now, he was being offered a golden opportunity, and he wasn't about to pass it up. They cleaned and zipped up before settling into semi-cramped positions on the couch, both using the armrests as pillows with their feet tucked up into the middle.

“Good night, Peter.”

Pete let out a soft chuckle.

“Good night, Bob Benson.”


End file.
